


The Dragon Queen

by Dragons4ever



Category: Soul Eater
Genre: F/M, First Time, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-09
Updated: 2015-12-09
Packaged: 2018-05-05 20:38:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 19,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5389457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dragons4ever/pseuds/Dragons4ever
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As the second and youngest child of the wealthy Lord Evans, Soul does not expect many things from life. However, when his parents hold a ball for the Royal Family, he becomes drawn to Maka Albarn, the Dragon Queen. On the night they meet ancient magic binds them together, and Soul is forced to face something he has always tried to supress--his own feelings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Whoooooo it’s finally time to post the thing! I’ve had this finished mostly since August, so I’m super excited to share this with everyone!  
> Thanks to makapedia, earth-shines, and marshofsleep for the eyes, marsh and heartxrain for being amazing artists, and the resbangmods for organising this event! It’s been so much fun and I hope everyone’s enjoyed it as much as I have.  
> WARNINGS: explicit sexual content, foul language, extremely self-depreciating thoughts.  
> Links to the arts will be added once they have been posted. Enjoy!

Soul sighed as he watched servants bustle about his family’s great ball room. His mother stood to his left, talking rapidly at one of the butlers, gesticulating wildly. He could barely understand what his mother was saying, she was speaking so fast, and judging by the butler’s face, neither could he.

“Understand?” she asked finally, once she had taken a breath.

The poor man nodded, bowed, mumbled a “yes milady”, and scurried off to who knew where.

His mother turned and seemed almost surprised to find him standing beside her, despite the fact that she had called for him.

“Ah, Soul, my dear son,” she said collecting herself. “I have something very important to ask of you.”

He sighed again and straightened his back after catching himself slouching. Thankfully his mother seemed too distracted by the arrangements around her to notice. “Yes, mother?”

She motioned for him to follow as she walked towards the long table set against the wall, running from one end of the ballroom to the other. “When the royal family arrives tomorrow for the ball in honour of the Queen’s birthday, I need you to...provide moral support for your brother.” She glanced at him from over her shoulder. “By which I mean keep the Prince Father occupied while Wesley woos the Queen. Understand?”

Soul did his best not to roll his eyes. “Yes, Mother. I understood the first three times you told me as well, you know.”

His mother turned and pursed her lips. “Please don’t talk back to me like that, Soul, or I’ll be forced to change all your announcements to the name I gave you when you were a babe.”

He bristled and grumbled a little under his breath.

“ _Solomon_?”

He pinked a little and mumbled, “Sorry, Mother.”

She huffed and turned back to the table, tugging a little on the cloth as though to straighten it out. Out of the corner of his eye, Soul could see one of the maids’ faces go red as she watched some of the nicer tableware move a little from his mother’s efforts.

“Mother,” he said, hoping to distract her. “What is Wes’ battle plan for the Queen? I need to know how to help him.”

His mother smiled and took his arm, dragging him to one of the balconies. “An excellent question, my dearest boy. Allow me to explain.”

Soul turned his head a little to watch two maids leap forward to undo the damage his mother had unwittingly caused.

“When the Queen and her party arrive,” his mother began, bringing his attention forward again, “We shall greet them at the door, and Wesley will personally offer to escort her Majesty around the house. At dinner he will be at her left, between her and your father. Then, at the ball, he will be the first to offer her a dance.” She turned to him then with sharp eyes. “You will need to keep other young men away from the Queen until he does so. Use whatever means necessary. Your glare works very well. Get your elbows in if you must.”

He bit back a chortle. “And then?”

His mother sighed. “And then, Wesley will simply work his charm on her as they dance, and she’ll be unable to pick another partner for the rest of the evening and before you know it your brother will be at court and their engagement will be announced and your brother will be a prince!”

Soul tried really hard not to pop his mother’s bubble, he really did. But, eventually, he could not resist. “What if the Queen doesn’t take a liking to Wes’ brand of charm? She might not like men who are universally charming, given that her father is…”

His mother huffed a little. “Well, then, I suppose…” She turned to him with a large smile. “Then I suppose you’ll have to use _your_ charm to woo her. If she doesn’t like Wesley, she’ll be sure to like you. Your unusual features _are_ very charming, my darling child.”

“Mother, you flatter me.”

* * *

Soul clasped his hands behind his back and did his best not to fidget. He  _had_ been keeping his nerves to a minimum by tinkering with his piano, but then his mother had rushed in, squawking that the royal carriage was coming up the drive  _early_ _and oh gods they weren’t ready, **they weren’t ready!**_

A few words from her oldest handmaiden and his father managed to calm her, but the resulting scramble to present themselves before the royal ensemble still left Soul feeling the smallest bit sick from second hand nerves.

On the steps outside his family house, his parents and brother and all the servants were arranged in a way that was hoped would please the Queen and her entourage. In front stood the Lord Bartholomew Evans, and next to him was his wife, Lady Constance Evans, arms linked and smiles bright. Behind them and to their right stood his older brother, Wesley, tall and dashing as ever. And to their left stood Soul, hoping he did not look as frazzled as he felt.

Soul hazarded a glance at his brother and met his bright, baby blue gaze. Wes raised a finely plucked, blonde eyebrow and his mouth tilted into a smile. Soul felt his mouth react involuntarily to smile back, before he smoothed his features into his normally apathetic expression. Wes unfortunately had seen it, and would probably tease him about it later.

Finally the royal carriage pulled up, with guards on horses and on foot arranged around it. The footman went to the carriage door and opened it, then held out a hand to help the Queen out.

Soul felt… a little underwhelmed actually.

The Queen looked rather short and thin. Her blonde hair was pinned back and her dress was modest and rather plain for such a distinguished lady. This was supposed to the woman who ruled all the land? _This_ was the woman who held the title Dragon Queen, for the inherited ability to turn into a _dragon_?

No way. He called bullshit.

At least until she looked up at them. And _oh_. Now he understood.

Her eyes were bright, like nothing he had ever seen before. He felt like they were looking right through him, right into his soul, like they could see every secret and every fault he possessed.

He paid no attention to her father, who left the carriage after her, or to his own father as he walked down to the steps to greet her and kiss her hand and congratulate her on turning another year older. Even when she was no longer looking at him, he could not look away.

What he had mistaken for thinness was simply a litheness. She moved gracefully, and while her style was simple, she could not be mistaken for anything other than regal. She walked with an air of complete authority, and her voice carried power, even though her tone was friendly as she spoke with his father.

Soul was only broken out of his stupor when Wes was called forward to greet the Queen and the Prince Father. He swallowed as he watched his brother move forward, bow and kiss the Queen’s hand like their father had, though the contact was held for longer and could only be called flirtatious. She smiled at him, and something clenched in Soul’s heart painfully.

But he ignored it.

His father called him next and he walked down to bow and greet the royal family.

Up closer, Soul could see that not only were the Queen’s eyes bright and shining, but that they were as green as emeralds. She did not seem startled by his unusual appearance; red eyes, white hair, and sharp teeth usually had ladies flinching as they met his gaze. He supposed it had something to do with her powers. She was used to seeing monstrous things.

“Your Majesty,” he murmured as he bowed. She nodded in acknowledgement of him. When he took her hand—still wrapped in her travelling gloves—to kiss her royal ring, he kept his eyes downcast.

“Your Majesty,” Wes said once Soul had taken several steps back to stand behind their parents. “Allow me to escort you to your quarters. And afterwards, if I am not too presumptuous, to show you around our home?”

The Queen smiled, though closed lipped. “It would be a pleasure to see your family’s house.”

Wes held out his arm, and the Queen took it. Wes led her into the house, with his parents trailing after them, leaving Soul behind with the Prince Father for a moment.

“Your Highness,” Soul said, bowing again to the red-headed man who was dressed far more lavishly than his daughter. “Might I show you—”

“Thank you, but no need, I’ll just follow my daughter,” the Prince Father said loftily, waving him off and walking after his parents.

Soul stood there for a moment longer, to take a deep breath to give him strength, then, went after them all.

Keeping the Prince Father occupied was going to be easier said than done.

* * *

The music was lively and there were many,  _many_ people bustling about the ball room. Soul could see his mother and father conversing with a high ranking diplomat from a neighbouring kingdom on one side of the room, his brother dancing with the Dragon Queen in the centre of the room, and the Prince Father fetching a rather hefty glass of alcoholic punch from further up the long table from him.

After glancing a moment longer at Wes and the Dragon Queen (and ignoring the tug at his heart), he walked up to the Prince Father to try and engage him in conversation. For the _third_ time.

“Your Highness,” he said as he came up to the other man’s side, trying to force as much cheerfulness into his voice, if only for his brother’s sake. “Are you enjoying the ball?”

The Prince Father, Spirit, looked at him from other his glass as he took a sip. A long sip. Soul hoped he was getting drunk, then he’d be easier to distract.

“I know what you’re doing,” the Prince Father said lowly.

Soul blinked and felt his heart drop for a moment. “I’m sorry your Highness, I don’t think I understand.”

Spirit leaned closer and smiled. “I _know_ what you’re doing. You don’t need to be embarrassed about it.” Soul’s eyes widened as Spirit brushed his knuckles over his cheek. “I’m flattered, but I’m not looking for a male lover at the moment. Come back in a month.”

And then the Prince Father _winked at him_.

Soul felt his face flush hotly. “Th-that’s _not_ —!”

Spirit hushed him and grinned. “Don’t worry, I’ll keep your secret.” And then he wandered off to talk to a couple of voluptuous courtiers who had travelled with the royal family.

Soul stood there, frozen for several moments, trying to regain control of his breathing. Once he did, he poured himself a large glass of punch and downed it in one go. The punch was not very strong though, and he was going to need the strongest stuff possible to make to erase the memory of the Prince Father’s lidded gaze.

Just as he was drinking from his second glass of punch, a voice behind him said, “I see my father mistook your hospitality for flirtation, my lord. He unfortunately does that a lot.”

He choked on his drink and spun round to face the Queen herself, dressed in far more splendour than she had arrived in—a layered dress of dark red, with black gloves that went up past her elbows, with a number of jewels adorning her neck, ears, and hair. He had not even noticed that the dance had ended.

“Your Majesty,” he said hurriedly, bowing. “I-I did not—”

She laughed and he cut himself off, burning even more. “Don’t worry about it, Mr. Evans. It’s hardly your fault.” She grinned teasingly at him. “I hope he didn’t scare you too much.”

He tried to stammer out a reply, but eventually just shut his mouth to try and get his heart rate back under control. Finally he said, “I hope my brother did not abandon you, your Majesty.”

The Queen laughed some more. “Oh, not at all. I merely handed him off to one of my ladies in waiting.” She turned and looked over her shoulder.

He followed her gaze, and saw Wes being spun around by a tall blonde who seemed _very_ eager to be close to him. “Ah.”

She smirked and gave him a sly look. “Your brother is everything charming, but I think my dear Miss Thompson will enjoy his company far more than I.”

“I…I’m sorry to hear that, your Majesty.”

She chuffed and waved him off. “Don’t be.” She then gave him a strange look he could not quite figure out. “I don’t think I’ve seen you dance yet this evening Mr. Evans. Would you do me the pleasure?”

Soul suddenly became very aware that people were staring at them, including his parents across the room. He swallowed and tried to paste on a smile. “It would be a true honour, your Majesty.”

He held out a hand to her and led her out to the main space. He held his wrist up against hers and held his other hand behind his back and waited a few moments for the beat, and then started to move.

He quickly learned that though the Queen might be very talented at running a country and diplomacy, she could not dance to save her life. His toes protested loudly against any notion that she could.

Once the song ended they moved to the side of the room, the Queen abashed and him limping slightly.

“I’m really sorry, my lord,” she said softly, holding his elbow to help him sit, and taking the seat next to him. “I should have warned you.”

“I still couldn’t have refused,” he blurted out, and then flushed bright red. The Queen looked taken aback and he felt icy trails of terror dance down his spine. “I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”

She shushed him and fixed her gaze on her clasped hands, suddenly looking decidedly less like a queen, slouching a little. “I forget sometimes that people feel obliged to do as I say because of my rank,” she murmured. Then she took a deep breath, straightened her back, and looked back up at him with a smile on her face.

Soul did not know how to respond to that, at all. He simply stared back at her, face probably a mixture of shock and embarrassment.

After several long moments staring at each other, the Queen turned her head to look out of the window behind them.

“Your brother didn’t show me the gardens on the tour earlier,” she mused aloud. “I wish I had seen them, they look very lovely.” Then she fixed him with a mischievous look. “Would _you_ mind showing me about, Mr. Evans?”

“Do-do you not need to stay here, your Majesty?” he asked feebly.

She smirked again, fire returning to her eyes. “What’s life without a little adventure?”

And that was how he found himself purposefully bumping into a rather tall (and tipsy) man and spilling a glass of punch all over himself to create a diversion for the Queen to leave the hall unnoticed.

His mother shooed him off to change, and after replacing his soaked jacket with a clean shirt, he met the Queen in the arch that marked the start of the gardens.

She smiled at him as he approached and teased, “You took your time.”

He bristled a little. “Apologies, your Majesty, I had to—”

She suddenly grabbed his shoulder and stared into his eyes, expression hard. “If we are to share an adventure, let’s get one thing straight here. _We are partners in this_.” She pressed her lips into a thin line. “Titles do not exist. I am not the Dragon Queen, and you are not the second son the second richest family in this kingdom. I am just Maka and you are just Soul.” Her face relaxed into a slightly more pleased expression and she let go of his shoulders to take a step back. “Now—” she held out a gloved hand for him“—shall we find our adventure?”

He gaped a little at her bold statement, and then swallowed dryly. “…Yes. Let’s.” He slipped his hand into hers and let the corner of his mouth twitch up at the sheer absurdity of the situation. “ _Maka_.”

And then the Queen _giggled_ and tugged him along with her into the gardens, holding her skirts up with the other hand so she could jog along.

“Shouldn’t I be the one leading?” he asked as he was pulled forward. “Since I live here.”

She squeaked, pinked—rather adorably—and stopped, before turning to look at him with a sheepish smile. “You’re probably right.”

He coughed to hide the laughter that bubbled up and said, “Is there anywhere you’d like to go?”

She hummed and thought. Finally she said, “Flowers?”

* * *

Maka gasped as he showed her one of his father’s enchanted glass houses, where the temperature was kept far warmer than it was outside, and the air far more humid.

He waved to her and murmured, “This way.” There was something in particular he wanted to show her.

She slipped her hand back into his and whispered, “Where are we going?”

He smiled at her over his shoulder. “It’s a surprise.”

“An adventurous surprise?” she said teasingly.

“Oh, very.”

Finally, they reached the place Soul was looking for, and stopped her. “Close your eyes,” he murmured. She quirked a brow and huffed. “Please?” he added.

She smiled wryly but did as he asked. Gently, using her hand in his, he pulled her forward a bit more.

“Almost there,” he reassured her when she opened her mouth to question him. “Here, just—” he touched her shoulder gently to turn her slightly “—there, and now open your eyes!”

When she did she gasped again, in sheer delight. She looked at him with a wide smile that was contagious, soon he was grinning too.

Maka turned her attention back to the white flowers in the large raised bed in front of her and breathed, “It’s beautiful.”

He hummed and took a cautious step closer to her. “It only blooms at night. My brother and I helped our mother pot it when we were younger. Sometimes she deigns to come down here and fiddle with the plants, but nowadays I think she just gives the gardeners heart-attacks instead of actually helping.”

Maka laughed and look up at him shyly. “Can I touch it?”

“Uhh,” he said for a moment before collecting himself. “Yeah? It’s not poisonous or anything.”

She hummed and pulled off one of her gloves. Then she reached out a hand cautiously and rubbed a petal between two fingers.

“It’s like velvet,” she said softly. She leaned forward and sniffed. “But it doesn’t have a fragrance?”

He shrugged. “I’ll confess to not remembering much about this plant beside it flowering at night.”

She laughed again. “You should spend more time learning then.”

His smile dimmed a little. “Second sons can rarely afford the luxury of learning anything beyond what can make him a living. My father believes the military is the only acceptable route other than music.”

She blinked and gaped a little. “Oh. _Oh_ , I’m sorry.”

He shrugged. “It cannot be helped.” Then he held out his hand for her again, forcing on a smile. “Anywhere else you’d like to explore?”

She smiled in return, just as forced and said, “Maybe the maze? That seemed like an—”

Whatever else she said was lost, as when her now bare hand touched his equally naked one, bright light erupted behind his eyes, and he knew nothing more.

* * *

His mother stood at the end of his bed, wringing her hands anxiously. Soul and his manservant, Hiro, exchanged a look.

“Are you sure you have everything you need?” his mother blurted finally.

“Yes Mother,” Soul said, trying his best to be soothing. “Hiro knows what needs to be packed.”

Constance was still for a moment before bursting into movement, enveloping her youngest son in a tight hug and wailing loudly in his ear.

“Oh my dearest, _darling_ son! The palace! Why must you go so far away from your poor mama!” she said, tugging him down so he was slouching over her, patting her back soothingly.

“You were fine with Wes leaving,” he said quietly into her shoulder.

She sniffled and pulled back so she could cup his cheeks in her hands. “Wes is older and knows what to do at court! You’re my baby! You’ve never left home, you’re barely above age!” She wailed again and pulled him back to into her embrace. “You’re getting married!”

Something like fear settled into his stomach at the thought, and the new mark above his heart burned hotly.

“Not for another three months though,” he mumbled.

His mother sniffled some more, and finally pulled back to dab at her eyes with a handkerchief she pulled from a sleeve. “My baby,” she whimpered. “All grown up.”

He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “I, uh, appreciate the concern mother, but can we finish packing now?”

She sniffled again, for extra effect he was sure, before leaving with a mournful “I’ll wait for you downstairs”. His bedroom door shut behind her with a click and he sat down heavily on his bed.

He turned to look at Hiro and added, “I can finish this on my own, you can go finish your other work.”

Hiro looked torn between staying and leaving. “Are you sure, sir?” he asked finally.

He nodded and waved his hand. Hiro did not stay very long, leaving through the servant’s door.

Soul flopped back, lying on his bed and trying to steady the giant butterflies that had grown in his stomach. He rubbed his hand over his chest, feeling the raised skin of the mark.

He was bonded to the Dragon Queen as her pre-destined partner, something that had not happened for several generations, the last being Maka’s great-great grandfather. Skin-on-skin contact had activated their bond, knocking them both out temporarily and creating the mark on his chest—a coiled dragon that he had been told resembled the Queen in her alternate form—to show all that he had been… _claimed,_ for want of a better word.

In the short time Maka had had to talk to him before they were forced to return to the party and explain what had happened, she had told him that the mark was also the physical manifestation of the mental and spiritual link that would develop between them. Soon he would be able to tell when she was close as his mark burned, and then her base emotions, and then they might be able to get into each other’s heads and hear each other’s thoughts, though she had not explained how.

He grumbled and rubbed his eyes out. He had not wanted this, _Wes_ was supposed to be the one the Queen wanted, _Wes_ was the one who was suited for court life, as his mother had so helpfully pointed out. And now, because of this bond, he was going to _marry_ the Queen!

He was nineteen for gods’ sake! He could barely handle familial connections, now he was supposed to be connected to someone else in the deepest of ways?

He felt something that was almost tears well up behind his eyes and he clenched his teeth to force them back.

Yes, he was scared, _yes_ , he was anxious, **_yes_** , he wished this had never happened. But the memory of Maka’s face swirled in his mind. Her smile and her eyes and her playfulness. He thought she was beautiful and powerful, and perhaps he even admired her, but could he love her, like a husband, like a lover? Would they even really get along?

As he sat back up and pushed himself off the bed to finish setting his nicest clothes in one of his many trunks, he forced himself to settle on the thought that he could have ended up with someone far, _far_ worse. At least Maka was kind.

After shutting his final trunk, Soul made his way down one of the less grand stair cases and found his brother loitering at the bottom, waiting for him.

Wes had largely avoided him in the aftermath of the party, and now Soul could not help think that his brother was going to lay into him about stealing the place that was rightfully his. Instead Wes smiled lightly and slapped him on the back.

“I would say congratulations, but you don’t look all that happy little brother,” he teased.

Soul watched him warily for a moment. “You’re…not upset?”

Wes scoffed loudly. “The only who is even slightly upset is father, but mother calmed him quickly by reminding him that with you in the palace I can still maintain this old place. And that now you _don’t_ have to go to war or whatever.” Then he leaned in and whispered, “And, besides, I’m kind of relieved. I won’t speak ill of our Queen and my soon-to-be-sister-in-law, but I think I like the _bountiful_ Miss Thompson a little better.”

Soul glanced at him and Wes winked. “ _Oh my gods_.”

Wes snickered and slapped him on the back. “Hush now brother, you’ll understand soon enough. Only three months to the wedding after all.”

Soul felt his stomach sink again.

His brother watched his face and echoed what was in his mind. “Don’t remind you, huh?” He squeezed his shoulder reassuringly. “You’ll be fine. Now, come with me, you’re wanted for one last afternoon tea with the royal family before you all leave tomorrow.”

As they walked through the halls to the doors leading to the outside seating area, Soul felt the mark warm as he got closer and closer to his betrothed. “I don’t think the Prince Father likes me much,” he mumbled suddenly.

Wes snorted. “Of course he doesn’t, you managed to secure his daughter without even trying to woo him at the same time and he can’t say anything about it because it goes way above him to the gods above. Father would be the same if the roles were reversed.”

“How reassuring,” Soul muttered. “Thank you brother.”

Wes slapped his back again, making him stumble. “Anytime brother.”

* * *

Soul swallowed dryly as he was helped into the royal carriage early the next morning, after the Queen and the Prince Father had been helped in. Spirit glared at him as he sat opposite the Queen, but Maka smiled at him, even if it was only a small smile. Out of the window, Soul could see his parents standing on the steps, his mother still dabbing at her eyes as his father stood stoic. Behind them Wes looked proud, though forlorn.

When his mother saw him looking, she waved her handkerchief, and he waved back a little as the door was closed and the footman called to the driver. The carriage set off with a jerk, and Soul continued to look out the window at his family home until they had long left the park and the grounds could not be seen for the trees and bushes.

Though he might have never felt truly comfortable with his family, he was going to miss them. He was going to miss the house and the grounds and the servants and everybody he had known there. That was his home, and there was no telling when he would—if ever—return.

He was pulled from his thoughts by Maka. “Here,” she said, holding out a book. “It’s a long journey, so you might as well spend the time learning a bit more about what you’re heading into.” Her smile finally reached her eyes and grew a little. “Better to get a head start so you don’t feel as lost.”

Spirit scoffed loudly, though he turned it into a cough when Maka looked at him sharply.

She turned her eyes back on Soul, and this time her smile was sympathetic, though she said nothing more.

He took the book and opened it. It was fairly thick and titled _A Brief Understanding of a Courtier’s Life_. If such a thick book was only brief, he dreaded to think of what an unabridged version would look like.

Soul could not imagine it would be a very entertaining read, but as Maka had pointed out, hitting the ground running would put him at an advantage, however slight it may turn out to be. He might as well take whatever opportunity he could get to worm his way into the court’s good books. Perhaps he might even turn Spirit’s opinion in his favour; though after catching the Prince Father’s icy gaze, he thought better of it.

As he turned to the first page, he glanced at Maka, who had pulled out her own book. Perhaps he would do best to focus on the one person who truly mattered. All his future happiness lay with the Queen, after all.

* * *

The palace city was far larger than he had imagined, though he supposed he should not have been surprised. It was the capital city of their nation, and so came with all the formalities such a city could boast. The palace too, in the middle of the city, looked larger than any other place in the country.

He held the _Courtier’s Life_ in his lap, after having managed to get through three quarters of it during the ride, so that he could look out the carriage window to observe all that could be seen.

“Welcome to Grigori,” Maka said softly, leaning over to talk to him.

He glanced at her and became aware of the large grin that had grown on his face unbidden. He tried to smother it, but the mirroring smile on her face made it hard. He could feel his heart thump hard in his chest as butterflies sprung up anew in his belly. Warmth enveloped him as she leaned towards him, burning from the mark outwards to the rest of his body, soothing his nerves, though only a little.

He wanted to say something, like “It’s very big”, or “It looks busy”, but eventually figured it would be stupid to point out the obvious like that. Instead he whispered, “Thank you.”

Maka’s eyes met his warmly and his heart fluttered, even as Spirit’s gaze remained cold hatred.

Finally they made it through the city streets to the palace front. The door opened and Maka was helped out, then Spirit, then him.

He could not help but gape up at the large building in front of him. While it had looked large from afar, it nearly blew his mind up close. His family was indeed one of the richest families—for their land, people and resources—but their home could never compare to the grandeur of the palace, which had been built upon by many, _many_ generations of the royal family, which was far older than his.

“Soul,” Maka called gently, and he started, then pinked when he realised he had been left behind in his wondering, and followed after her.

He thought he heard the Prince Father mutter something about an ‘octopus-head’ but he could not be sure.

Once they were inside the main keep of the palace, a dark skinned man stepped towards Maka and bowed, welcoming her back. Only after Spirit sniffed was he welcomed in the same way.

Finally, the man turned his attention to Soul. To his faint surprise, he bowed to him as well, welcoming him as grandly as Maka had been.

Maka motioned him forward and Soul stood beside her. “This is one of my closest advisers,” she said. “Kilik Rung.”

Kilik bowed again.

“Will you show him around the grounds?” Maka said, addressing her adviser. “I assume there are many things I need to take care of to prepare for the…” She glanced at Soul before looking back at Kilik. “Future,” she finally finished.

“Of course your Majesty,” Kilik answered smoothly, smiling. Then he turned to Soul and said, “Follow me if you will, my Lord.”

Soul glanced at Maka again before following Kilik. Maka walked in a different direction, with three different people pouncing on her as she went, handing her various documents and all speaking rapidly. Soon he turned a corner though and both Maka and the main entrance were out of sight, leaving him feeling slightly cold.

“Shall we see the main quarters first?” Kilik suggested as they walked. “Or would you like something to eat? It was a long journey from your family’s home.”

Soul doubted he would be able to actually eat anything though. The reality of what his life was to become was settling in, and the fear he had been doing his best to fight off had returned with a vengeance.

“I’d like to see the main quarters, I think,” he said weakly.

Kilik hummed and nodded, smiling still. “This way then.” He went down a different hall that lead to a grand staircase, not unlike the one at his home.

As they started climbing it, Kilik leaned over and said quietly, “It’s OK to be afraid. When I first arrived, I was terrified of everything.” He grinned a little. “You’ll get used to everything soon enough.”

Soul ran his tongue over the inside of his teeth and tried to swallow, but his mouth was completely dry. “Let’s hope so.” He did not want to disappoint Maka, since he might already be able to feel what she was feeling—faint annoyance was starting to gnaw at him, though he knew he himself was not annoyed—and he did not want to feel her regret for being partnered with him, though he did not say this.

He figured he was going to be picked apart by the other courtiers as soon as he was introduced. Might as well try and keep _some_ things private.

* * *

The next morning Soul sat in the library with Kilik, waiting for his tutor.

At dinner, after being shown around the castle, Maka had told him that in order to prepare him for royal life, he had to have a tutor, or several. While the idea of _learning_ was not exactly his favourite, Soul had to admit that he did not know the first thing about ruling a country, even if he was technically not the one doing it.

He saw Kilik pull out a mechanical pocket watch and sigh. Glancing at one of the various grand pendulum clocks that were dotted around the great room, he saw that his tutor was now ten minutes late.

He thought he heard Kilik mutter something about an ox, but could not ponder on it when the doors to the library burst open dramatically to reveal two men.

They both wore glasses, though the first man’s pair looked rather gaudy while the second man’s were tinted. The main difference between them were their hairstyles: the first man’s head was bald except for two spikes of hair protruding from above his ears, and the second man had his hair tied neatly at the back of his head into a bun.

Kilik rose from his seat and said in exasperation, “Glad you could finally make, Mr. Ford.”

The first man huffed. “It’s hardly my fault. I—I mean, _Harvar_ had to check on a lady of our acquaintance.”

The second man shook his head from behind the first and Kilik sighed and rubbed his face.

“You will never learn, will you,” Kilik muttered, just loud enough for Soul to hear, though he was sure the other two men could not. Louder the adviser said, “Mr. Ford, Mr. Éclair, let me introduce Mr. Evans, her Majesty the Queen’s intended.”

Soul stood after being introduced and tried not to show how nervous he felt.

Mr Ford seemed to appraise him for a moment before stepping forward to shake his hand. “Nice to meet you Mr Evans.”

Mr Éclair stepped forward to shake his hand also, but said nothing.

“I’m sure you have been told that her Majesty would like you two to tutor Mr Evans in the fine arts of royal life,” Kilik continued.

Mr Ford hummed and crossed his arms, turning his head to look at Kilik. “Remind me how long we have until the wedding?”

“Three months,” Soul said before Kilik could answer.

Mr Ford’s mouth pressed into a thin line. “Not very long,” he said quietly. “I suppose we’ll have to test you first to see what you actually know, so we don’t waste time. Harv?” He turned to Mr Éclair whose expression had not changed since entering. “Would you bring me the law compendium, the complete set of history books, the book of royal insignias, and the latest edition of the diplomat’s protocol?”

Mr Éclair nodded and moved off without saying a word.

Mr Ford turned back to Soul. “Let’s get started, we haven’t a second to lose.”

* * *

It turned out that Soul did not know much at all, beside some of the history of their kingdom, which he had been taught as a boy. As the test had progressed, Soul could tell he was doing worse and worse by Ox Ford’s deepening frown.

This had then resulted in Ox drawing up a strict schedule where nearly every hour of his day was filled with learning. He rose early to have breakfast with the Queen and the Prince Father (who still glared at him); then he was off to the library to be taught the laws of the land, the customs of the neighbouring kingdoms, and in-depth history of his fiancée’s family line; then lunch where he had to interact with various courtiers, who whispered and gossiped about his appearance and his ‘true’ relations to the Queen; then back into the library for further lessons; then dinner with Maka and his future father-in-law (who glared some more); then he had to try and get through the considerable daily reading list he had been given; and then finally to bed before the whole routine started again.

Sunday was his only day off out of the full week, as a religious day. On Sundays, he got to sleep in a little longer, then spend the morning in the royal box in the city cathedral, and then he had the rest of the day to do with as he pleased. Or, in reality, the rest of the day to plough through a large stack of books Ox needed him to read.

This whole schooling thing might have been tolerable if he had been able to spend some time with the woman he was doing all this for, the woman he had previously enjoyed spending time with (however little that time had been), and wanted to get to know better. But every time he tried to approach Maka on a free day, or start conversation over a meal, there was always something to stop her.

Either she had to be somewhere or she had to talk to someone or her father barged into the conversation to cut him out (though that was not her fault, her father was an ass).

The first few times it happened, he did not think much of it. Maka was the ruler of a rather large kingdom. She had many jobs and duties. But after a month had passed since he had arrived, he finally clued into what she was doing.

She was avoiding him.

And the realisation stung him, quite a lot.

Had he done something wrong already? Was she really that opposed to him, did she hate him for managing to worm his way into her life uninvited? Was she already thinking of ways to get herself out of this entanglement?

He lay awake at night thinking about it. Really, he should have been used to a certain level of disappointment in his life. He was the second son with no real value to his family. If anything he was burden. He had no talent, no birth-right, no use. And on top of that, he had his strange looks that startled most if not all the people that met him.

He should have been used to people turning away from him. And yet he was not.

He felt a little thread of self-loathing sew its way into his mind, to join all the others that had been there since his boyhood. _Maka did not want him_. Cold spread out from the mark on his chest as distance grew between them. He could feel the faintest tendrils of fear, regret, and sadness from her side of the bond, and was fairly sure it was because of him.

He clenched his jaw hard to stop himself from crying.

* * *

Another week passed and he felt himself draw back and become quieter than ever before. Instead of his usual blank face, Harvar kept giving him questioning looks when he kept his gaze tilted down to the desk instead of up into Ox’s eyes. The whispers got louder as Soul stayed silent during lunch with the court. He felt Spirit’s burning gaze grow stronger as his self-loathing weaved itself into a tapestry that read  _useless_ .

On Sunday he found himself sitting out in the garden, one of Ox’s many books open on his lap, though he was not reading it. He felt too numb, too blank and useless _worthless **pathetic**_ to take anything in.

“Soul.”

His head snapped up to see Maka standing in front of him, face the perfect picture of concern. Warmth spread in his chest from the mark at her sudden closeness—closer than she had been in a while, but he tried to will the warmth away. Hope would not do.

“Oh,” he said hollowly. “Your Majesty. Hello.”

“Can I sit with you?” she asked gently, indicating the rest of the bench he was sitting on.

He nodded mutely and shut the book. She settled down beside and the warmth grew, as did the will to shove it back down. It was enough to make his fingers shake.

They sat in silence for several long moments before Maka began to speak again.

“Mr. Éclair told me that you’ve been very quiet during your lessons. Is everything OK?”

Soul chewed on the inside of his cheek. “Yes,” he mumbled, tasting blood. “Everything is fine.”

She shifted so her knee brushed against his and his stomach flopped. “Soul,” she said softly. “I know it’s not. The mark goes both ways you know, I can feel how unhappy you are. Please, tell me what’s wrong.”

He was quiet for a long moment and she waited patiently for his answer, for which he was grateful for. Finally he said hoarsely, “Have I done something wrong?”

Glancing up at Maka briefly, he could see her brows knotted and her mouth moving silently as confusion drifted from her to him dimly. “N- _no_ , why would you think that you had?” she blurted.

He hunched his shoulders some more, feeling her frustration withhim and said softly, “Because you’ve been avoiding me. I…I know I’m not the most desirable of partners, and I understand if you don’t want to be around me much.” A harsh laugh bubbled up in his throat and he barked, “Not many people do.” He cleared his throat and continued softly, “But maybe we could try and be friends. So then when we’re married, we don’t hate each other.” He added hurriedly, “You don’t have to, if you don’t want, though. I don’t want to make a fuss.”

He did not dare look at her after making his speech, and Maka remained silent for a long time, long enough to make him think that he had truly fucked things up for himself. He dared not examine the feelings coming from her, lest they reveal the bitter truth—that she really did not want him around.

“ _Soul_ ,” she breathed finally. Her hand grabbed his suddenly and he jerked his head up so he could look at her, and was startled to see her eyes water. “Oh, Soul. I’m so, _so_ sorry. I-I didn’t mean to ignore you, and I’m so sorry that this has hurt you.” Her voice wavered as she squeezed his hand. “This has been scary, and overwhelming—for both of us—but that is no excuse for how I have been treating you.”

She pulled his hand into her lap and enclosed it in both of hers, and the skin contact made her feelings seem stronger in his mind, letting him see how sorry and upset she was to have hurt him. She was _heart-broken_ for him, and it astounded him. On the outside, her gaze was so intense that he could not bear to look away.

“Can we start over?” she asked. “I would like to be friends.”

He smiled shyly and brushed his thumb over one of her hands, heart soaring as her hope melded with his. “I-I would like that. A lot.” In a whisper, he added, “Thank you.”

She laughed, though the sound was a little watery. “You don’t have to thank me.” Then she took a deep breath and stood. “Now, let’s go spend some time in the sun. I’d like to hear about everything you have learned since you’ve been here and how you like the palace.”

He grinned and stood with her, though his knees shook a little with the sudden emotional whiplash. “Sounds like a wonderful plan,” he croaked.

She laughed again, the sound stronger this time, and began to tug him along. “And don’t worry about your reading lists or whatever else Ox has set you. I’ll talk to him about it.”

As they moved away from the shaded bench and into the sunlight that spilled across the rest of the garden, Soul felt the tapestry of self-loathing begin to fray in the back of his mind. His mark burned and happiness that was not his own filtered into his soul, inspiring his own.

In his happiness, he missed how pink her cheeks turned as their skin contact continued.

* * *

Maka soon became a fixture in his routine, as they started spending nearly all their free time together. They learned all there was to learn about one another, and Soul soon found that he was applying himself to this subject far more than he had ever done to any other lesson.

He learned her favourite books, her favourite past-times, her favourite foods, and her favourite places to squirrel herself away when the stacks of paperwork started getting too much. With each new piece of information, Soul felt warmer, as the burning of his mark grew to be a constant source heat with her continued presence at his side.

And, as another month passed, Soul began to realise that his feelings for Maka were changing. He no longer ached to just be her friend, he wanted to be closer; to hold her hand, to brush her hair from her forehead when it escaped her intricate styles, to gently caress her face. He wanted more and more, and eventually he had to admit the truth to himself.

He had fallen headlong in love with his queen.

This should have made him happy. Since they were already engaged, it did not change what was going to happen, but it would have made the whole affair a lot happier. He had seen what happened to marriages without love--his own parents did not love each other and he had spent his childhood watching them drift apart to the cool façade they had now. Love would have made his marriage stronger and joyful.

However, there was no doubt in his mind that his feelings were one-sided.

Maka did not think of him in the way he thought of her. She did not see him and wish to hold his hand, she did not see him and crave to be closer, she did not see him and ache to hold in the way lovers did. She did not dream of him like he dreamed of her--embarrassed though he was to admit it--and she did not want to spend all of eternity by his side like he did.

She was his friend, and that was all. But even this was more than he could have expected from her. She was far too good for him.

There was also a fear, a terrible fear, that these feelings were not his own. That the love that was starting to grown was merely a side-effect of the bond, that the magic of it was the true cause of the affection and not Maka herself.

In a way he almost wished it was the bond making the love grown in his heart, it would be easier to ignore. But at the same time, deep down, after much contemplation, he knew that his feelings were true. No magic could cause the butterflies he experienced, no magic could make his palms sweat around her as they did. No magic could truly replicate love.

But as his feelings for her grew, so did the... _unseemly_ side-effects that came with them.

Jealously. Possessiveness. Heart ache.

Four weeks before their wedding date, Soul found some of these side-effects flaring up painfully.

Maka had to leave for a day or so to visit a neighbouring kingdom and talk with the king there--an immortal king at that--about various trading agreements, alliances, and other subjects royals talked about. This might not have been a problem for Soul if Maka had not spent the week leading up to the trip talking animatedly about the neighbouring king and all his many accomplishments, with her excitement leaking from her soul to his.

And if Ox had not told him that Maka and King Mortimer II had been previously engaged before the other monarch broke it off.

So, as Soul stood in the courtyard of the palace, waiting to see Maka transform into her other form (which would be the first time since their engagement) and fly away, he felt white-hot jealousy churn in his stomach, and possessiveness over a woman owned by no man burn in his heart.

Even as these feelings brewed inside him, he hated himself for feeling that way. It was not fair to Maka, she could do as she pleased when she pleased, and she owed him nothing. His feelings were irrelevant. She did not even know of their existence anyway.

But, as light began to shine form around the Queen’s body once the courtyard was deserted, he was easily distracted from his nonsensical emotions.

He had never seen her transform, and curiosity and wonder began to replace his earlier thoughts.

The light fully engulfed her lithe figure, and then began to expand as her body changed and grew. The light became hot, and to Soul it felt like he was standing too close to a bonfire. The light swirled around her for a few more moments before dimming, revealing a large emerald dragon standing where the Queen had previously stood.

Soul gaped, and watched in stunned silence as servants bustled forward to begin strapping supplies around the dragon’s—no, _Maka’s_ middle.

Soul did not even realise he was gaping until Kilik sidled up to him and nudged his side with his elbow.

“It’s a magnificent sight, is it not?” Kilik said with quiet reverence. “Our Queen is truly a wondrous being.”

Soul could not find any words to reply with.

Kilik chuckled, slapped him on the back, and continued, “And have no fear my Lord, she will return to us soon enough.”

The servants finished strapping the supplies and scrambled back as Maka unfurled her wings. The ground shook a little when she forced herself into the air with tremendous flaps of her wings. As she flew away, Soul felt cold began to creep into the space her soul had taken next to his.

The court stayed where they were, until the Queen had flown off. Kilik gave him one last mischievous look before walking off.

As the court dispersed, Soul made his way back to the library to continue his lessons.

Once he had been working for about an hour and a half, Harvar approached him, standing behind his chair, hands clasped behind his back.

“You don’t need to be so anxious, you know,” he said in a monotone voice.

Soul blinked up at him and was not entirely sure what he was talking about. “I don’t know--”

“Bullshit,” Harvar said bluntly. “You haven’t stopped pouting since her Majesty flew away.”

Soul was taken aback. Had his ridiculous inner turmoil really been so...?

“Yes,” Harvar said as though he had heard his thoughts. “You really are that obvious.” Then he sighed and leaned over to continue in a low voice. “Yes, it’s true our Queen and King Mortimer were once engaged. But King Mortimer broke it off because he has about as much interest in a partner as most people have in leeks. Besides, what need does an immortal have for a mortal wife? All they do nowadays is play chess. So, _relax_.”

Then Harvar straightened and walked to the side of the room to pick up a book, leaving Soul to try and realign himself. That was the most Harvar had ever spoken to him. But he had to admit, it helped, just a little. He felt a little less cold.

* * *

Maka returned two days later, happy to be home and to have thoroughly thrashed ‘Mort’ in chess for once. But this meant that there was just over three weeks to the wedding, and so all the organisation that Soul had managed to avoid being part of thus far was thrust upon him.

This included wedding clothes, organising the wedding feast, talking over decoration (or standing by his mother as she talked, nodding and humming when necessary), and planning speeches and vows. He would have rather torn off his own arm than deal with all the ceremony (and _people_ ), but he could feel Maka’s happiness to be organising everything (though she knew even less about colour schemes than he did), so he did his best to put on a brave face.

However, the beginning of the real preparations also marked the birth of a massive ball of anxiety that grew in his stomach. As the days slowly trickled past towards the day he was to be bound to the Queen in the eyes of the law and the Gods above, the ball grew larger and began to roll around inside him, nearly making him sick several times.

On top of this, he felt horrible about it too, because he knew Maka could feel the tendrils of his anxiety, however much he tried to hold it back, because he kept feeling her concern and catching her worried gaze.

It was not fair to her, she was _happy_ about this whole thing, and there he was trying not to puke into his dinner.

When there was only one week left before the big day, guests started arriving from the far reaches of their kingdom and from neighbouring ones too. His parents and brother had arrived at the palace shortly after Maka had returned, but extended members of the family—both his and hers—began to stream in, filling the palace with even more people than before.

And Soul had only _just_ gotten used to the usual population of court.

Unfortunately, he no longer had the excuse of lessons to keep him playing court, as Ox had deemed him ready to be sent out into the ‘real world’ as he put it the week before. Maka was lucky, Soul thought as he tried to hide away in the palace garden, having to constantly deal with paperwork and diplomatic issues. It kept her in her office most of the day, so she rarely had to mingle.

And so Soul was left to flounder, leaving his anxiety to grow even bigger. It was not just wedding jitters anymore—though there was a lot of that too. His fear of people kicked into overdrive, and previous fears about Maka’s feelings for him became heightened as his brother started teasing him quietly about _the wedding night._

About what was considered the normal duty of a husband and wife. Maka needed an heir after all.

But…she did not want him in that way. She could not want him that way. He was…so…so… _beneath_ her. How could she ever want him, _love_ him, like he did for her?

And because she did not want him in that way, he could not bear to think of what the wedding night (and all subsequent nights as a married couple) would be like. He would not force her—never would—and the idea that she might insist, in the name of duty, despite not actively wanting it made him feel sick.

Though the whole idea of what the consummation of their marriage would involve made him feel a little sick anyway. He had never wanted a woman, or anyone, like he wanted Maka. It was rather terrifying, and he wondered if there was something wrong with him.

But, as was his custom, he forced his feelings down so they would not cross the bond and put on his apathetic face. He did not tell anyone about his worries, not even Maka ( _especially_ not even Maka).

However, the night before his big day, shaking with nerves, he found himself bursting into his brother’s room and blurting, “I want to run away.”

Wes looked horrified. “Wha—What do you mean, _you want to run away_?! You’re getting married tomorrow!”

Soul shut the door behind him and leaned back against it, clenching his hands at his sides to try and get them to stop shaking. Brokenly, he whispered, “I can’t do it. Wes, I-I _can’t_.”

Wes stared at him for a long moment before walking towards him and asking softly, “Why do you think you can’t do it?”

He was silent for a while before whispering, “I-I’m scared.” He felt his lower lip wobble and chomped down on it, _hard_ , hard enough to taste blood.

“Hey, it’s OK to be scared,” Wes said, reaching over to squeeze his shoulder. “Everyone gets scared before their wedding day. I’m sure the Queen is just as scared as you are. You have that bond, don’t you? Where you can feel each other’s emotions?”

Soul barked out a wobbly laugh and grabbed the fabric of his shirt over his heart as his soul brushed up against Maka’s a little. She was sound asleep, so her feelings were a little muted, but he could still feel the anxiety there.

“That doesn’t help,” he said. “I _can_ feel that she’s scared, but I don’t _want_ her to be scared. She _shouldn’t_ be scared, of this, of _me_.”

He could see Wes’ eyebrows furrow. “What makes you think she’s scared of you?”

He snorted a little and sniffed. “Everyone’s afraid of me. And there’s the whole…y’know.” He waved his hand vaguely. “Wedding night _duty_.”

Wes blinked at him blankly for a moment before cracking a smile. “OK, _one_ , not everyone is afraid of you. _I’m_ not afraid of you and pretty sure the Queen isn’t either. And _two_ , the wedding night sex? I’m almost _certain_ she’s not scared about that. You should see the way she looked at you, little bro. I swear, he eyes never leave your butt when you walk.” Wes ruffles his hair and snickered. “I’m pretty sure she wants to combust every time you bend over.”

Soul felt his face flame. “Bu-bullshit.”

Wes shook his head. “If only little brother, if only. You think I want to see her Royal Majesty ogle you?” His face became solemn. “There are some things that can never be unseen, Soul. _Never_.”

Unable to help himself, Soul laughed, then hiccupped as a few tears spilled out from his watering eyes and trickled down his cheeks. He wiped them away with the back of his hand and sniffled.

“Weirdo,” he murmured, and tried to bring up a smile.

Wes grinned and shrugged. “I only speak the truth.” Then his grin became an affectionate smile. “And, you know that the sex isn’t actually a _duty_ right? You don’t actually have to go through with it if you don’t want to.”

Soul pressed his mouth into a line. “But it’s expected anyway—”

“Bullshit,” Wes said with a wave of his hand. “Nobody will know, they did away with the watching-the-consummation tradition generations ago. You can _not_ do it, and then just say you did. And then only ever do it when you want to. I’m pretty sure your wife will not begrudge you for taking your time. She’ll probably appreciate it to be honest. You _have_ only know each other for three months.”

Soul sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Yeah,” he murmured simply.

Wes watched him for a while, waiting to see if he would say anything else. When he did not, his brother said, “I think maybe it’s time to go to bed, huh, little brother? Big day tomorrow and all. I know you don’t really like the whole crowd thing, so getting a good night’s sleep will help.” He wrapped his arm around Soul’s shoulders and pulled him into a hug. “Unless you want to talk about anything else?”

Soul chuffed and shook his head, returning the hug a little before being let go. “Thank you,” he said softly as he reached for the door.

Wes snorted. “No need to thank me, little brother. I’m always a letter away you know, if you ever want to talk.” Just as Soul was about to leave the room however, Wes tugged on his sleeve. “Oh, and by the way, don’t expect to see me tomorrow evening before you leave for the honeymoon. The elder Miss Thompson has offered me her very _generous_ hospitality.” Then he winked, snickered, and shoved his little brother out of his room as he squawked.

Soul stood in the hall for a moment, shocked and appalled by his brother’s behaviour, but also somewhat comforted. Wes had not changed since he had left, he was still the same mix of brotherly love and torment as he had been three months ago.

With lighter steps, Soul made his way back to his room, and managed to get to sleep. Wes was right after all, tomorrow was a big day.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the chapter where the smut happens, be warned.

After being roused at the crack of dawn, some food had been shovelled into his mouth and then he had been led into the dressing room previously used by the Prince Father. The quarters were to become his own once he returned from his honeymoon, and had as such been vacated during the week. (The Prince Father, it turned out, had far more clothes than had been previously thought possible.)

Then he had been stuffed into the wedding clothes that had been picked out and decorated in royal finery. When he had been turned to view himself in the mirror, he was stunned.

Could the young man standing in the looking glass really be him? He looked tall and strong, in red and black, the colour of his family’s crest. Somehow his hair had been brushed back and tamed into sitting neatly on his head, with a small circle of gold placed upon his crown to signify his status, though it would be replaced with a proper crown once further ceremonies had taken place.

For a brief moment, he thought he looked rather handsome. He wondered if that was how Maka saw him, tall and commanding. He rather doubted it.

“Oh, my dearest son!” his mother cried from the doorway as she pushed her way in. “Oh, how well you look! I can’t believe it, you look so regal!”

Soul turned from the mirror just in time for his mother to embrace him. He thought he heard one of the tailors make a strangled cry of distress but dismissed it as he took some comfort from his mother’s embrace.

She pulled back and retrieved a handkerchief to dab at her eyes dramatically, and it made Soul smile.

“Oh goodness, it’s your wedding day, I am wholly unprepared,” she said sniffling.

“It was bound to happen eventually,” Soul said and laughed as his mother pouted.

“That doesn’t mean I’d ever be ready for it. You’re still my baby.” She huffed, and then turned to the tailors. “Would you give us a few minutes please.”

The tailors glanced at each other, before looking Soul up and down to check for any issues, before reluctantly leaving the room.

Once the door was shut, Constance dabbed her eyes once more, and then tucked her handkerchief away. She took a deep breath and brushed her hair back, and Soul was struck by the quick transformation his mother had taken from silly and overbearing, to serious and commanding.

“Now, my dear Soul, it _is_ your wedding day, and no matter how much it pains me to see you go and make your own house, I must.” She took his hands in hers and stared into his eyes. “I know this is, and will be, difficult for you. Marriage _is_ difficult, especially one such as yours, with such as short betrothal period. But you have one advantage few will ever have.”

She took a step forward and moved one of her hands to cup his face gently. “You, my sweetest child, have a love match. And while it hurts my heart to let you go, I am so happy that it is like this. Your fate is a road less travelled to be sure, but it is a _happy_ one.” She sniffled again and beamed. “I wish you nothing but joy.”

Soul could not help but splutter. “I—what— _Mother_ , why—I mean—”

His mother hushed him and her eyes twinkled. “There is no need to be embarrassed or try to hide it, Solomon. Everyone with working eyes can see how much affection you and the Queen hold for each other.” Her voice became a whisper, “Never be afraid that you are alone. Your bride loves you as much as you love her. Even the Gods above would not dare to split you two apart.”

Happiness welled up in his heart unexpectedly, and he smiled bashfully. “Mother,” he said softly.

She pulled his head forward and kissed his forehead. Then she pulled back and gave him a watery beam. “Now, let us away to the Cathedral. We mustn’t be late!”

And once the tailors had come back in and straightened out any creases his mother might have caused, they did.

* * *

The Cathedral was large and ornate, with various stations around for various gods, though there was the main altar that both for the Lord of Gods, and for all gods in general.

Soul stood in a side room, with Wes at his side, and tried not to let his hands shake as he waited for his musical cue that would signal for him to start his procession into the main church to meet his bride and future.

Wes clapped him on the shoulder and said, “You’ll be fine Soul. You’ve practised the vows and speeches so many times, you could probably recite them in your sleep. _Relax_. This is supposed to be one of your happiest days.”

Unsurprisingly, his words were not all that helpful.

The waiting, Soul finally decided, was the worst part. As scared and despairing as he had been the night before, it did not compare to the nerves that threatened to knock his knees together. What if Maka decided not to go through with it? What if his mother and brother had been wrong, and she loved someone else and decided to elope, what if—”

“Son.”

His thoughts were interrupted, and his nearly suffered whiplash turning towards his father closing the door after him as he entered the side room.

“Father,” he said quietly.

Bartholomew Evans took three steps towards his son so he was standing in front of him, and grasped his shoulders. After taking a deep breath, he said, “Soul, your mother often tells me I am a man of few words, _too_ few, and I think now is a good a time as any to try and turn over a new leaf. I want you to know that I am very proud of you, and that I love you. I always have been and always will be.”

And for the first time in what Soul could safely say was at least a decade, his father beamed at him.

“I wish you joy,” his father concluded, and then with one last meaningful look, and a squeeze of his shoulders, he left the room to go back to his seat.

Soul blinked for several long moments before blurting, “Did I just have a nerves induced hallucination?”

Wes laughed. “If only. I think we just witnessed something rather miraculous.”

Soul was about to say something sarcastic back, when music started playing and he jumped. He felt his stomach fall into his shoes, but before he could do something awful, like throw up, Wes grabbed his shoulders and squeezed.

“Breathe, little brother, breathe.”

Soul did so, and under his breathe counted, “Three, four, five, six!” and then watched as Wes left through the door first, before continuing to count, “Seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve.” And then with one last dry swallow, he too left the room.

Red carpet stretched down from the hall the door was in, then out into the main church to the main altar. As he entered the main church, he looked across it to an identical hall down which Maka would be coming.

And he nearly stopped short. Only muscle memory ingrained by several tedious practices saved him from making a fool of himself as he was struck by how _beautiful_ she looked.

Her wedding dress was elegant and coloured in the rich gold and greens of her family crest. The bodice of the dress was tight around her torso, but had flaring sleeves that went to her elbows, and a billowing skirt that trailed behind her. Her hair looked rather simple in comparison, but that merely made way for the crown she adorned.

As their eyes met, Soul felt warmth bloom in his chest that could only be _her_ happiness passing through the link that had grown so strong between them. He had not seen her for a few days (the reason he had turned to Wes in his moment of desperation the night before) and he had not fully realized how much he had missed her.

And, when they met in the middle and joined hands to turn to the officiator, he felt a pulse jolt his body as skin met skin, for neither wore gloves. She met his glance with one of her own and smiled, squeezing his hand in hers before interlocking their fingers.

The officiator, a small man with a rather large nose and a tall hat, began the ceremony with a long speech about the foolishness of entering into marriage without the intention of remaining true, and without putting one’s full heart into it.

Soul zoned out a little as the officiator droned about fools this and fools that, focusing more on the feeling of Maka’s hand in his, and how her thumb rubbed circles into the back of his hand.

He was jolted from his dreamings by the officiator’s question to the congregation as to anyone having any objections to the marriage that was to commence. When no one spoke up, the ceremony began for real.

The officiator read out the rules of marriage to them. “You must, both of you, be true to one another. Be kind to one another. To trust one another, support one another, treat one another with dignity and affection, be the other’s pillar in times of distress and anguish as well as in times of joy and prosperity. Do you solemnly swear to abide by these rules, as they were given unto us by the holy Lord of Gods at the beginning of time?”

Soul looked from the officiator to Maka, and said in time with her, “We do.”

“Then may the Lord and Lady of Honour bring forth the bindings, so that your hands, hearts, spirits, and fates may be forever bound to each other.”

Wes stepped forward then, holding a white cloth embroidered with the Evans family crest, as a blonde woman—Maka’s godmother, a woman called Marie—brought forward a similar white cloth embroidered with royal crest.

The officiator took them, and as he knotted them together he said, “As these clothes are now entwined, so are your families.” He pulled on both clothes to demonstrate the strength of the knot and continued, “And like this binding, your union must be steadfast and eternal, for you will now be bound until the day you both perish, and then, even further on as you meet with the Gods Above in whatever life they give us after this one. Now, give me your hands.”

As one, they held up their hands, still interlocked. The officiator wrapped the knotted clothes around their hands and said solemnly, “As your hands are now bound, so are your hearts in the eyes of man. As your hands are now bound, so are your spirits in the eyes of the Gods. As your hands are now bound, so are your fates in the eyes of the eternal light, and all that is good and just.”

Once their hands were tied together, the officiator turned back to the altar to pick up a goblet, and then turned back round to present it to them. “Drink this as one,” he said, holding the goblet up high so all could see it. “Drink for your future health and prosperity. Drink to prove that you can commune as one before this congregation.”

He handed them the goblet and they took it, having practiced holding it with only one free hand each. Soul held the cup and Maka held up the base. With the hands that were tied together, they helped balance the goblet. First Maka drank from it, then Soul did, allowing the sweet holy wine to wet his dry throat.

The officiator took the goblet back and set it down. When he turned back to them, he held up their bound hands and said, “With these witnesses before you and in the eyes of the Gods, you have entered into the holy sanctity of marriage. Though this cloth may be untied, the bond formed between you will never be, for it as permanent as the sun and moon in the sky, and as beautiful.”

He untied the cloth around their hands and took a step back. “You may now seal your union with a kiss before your consummation cements your union in the eyes of the law.”

Soul took a small step closer to Maka, as she took a step closer to him. This was the part they have never practised, would not have been allowed to even if they had wanted to. Soul lifted his free hand to cup her cheek, and stroked her face with his thumb, getting lost in her deep emerald eyes.

Maka put a hand on his shoulder, and took the lead, leaning up to pressed her lips against his firmly.

An incredible surge of… _something_ passed through him, followed by the strangest feeling of serenity as her lips touched his. However, this serenity was quickly chased away by an overwhelming _lust_ as Maka pulled away, eyes hooded and pupils blown wide open. He wanted to seal his lips back over hers, to pull her tight against him and never let go.

Something like smugness coiled in his chest and with no small amount of surprise, he realised that it was coming from _Maka_. The link had never been that strong, that open before.

The word _resonance_ flickered through his mind, along with the sentiment _this is how I’ve felt since the moment we touched_ and _I want to kiss you again too_.

However, Soul was stopped from prodding any further into the new connection between him and his wife ( _wife!)_ by the officiator calling for the congregation to rise in prayer for the new couple.

 _Soon_ vibrated from her soul to his before she began to slow the connection, letting it simmer back into what it had been before.

They both turned to the officiator and let their heads bow in prayer, though Soul did not feel very holy, what with the thoughts running through his head.

All he could think about was the wedding night, and how _interesting_ it seemed now that he had reached this connection with Maka. _Very interesting._

* * *

After the ceremony (which went on for another half hour due to various prayers and readings) came the wedding banquet, held in the largest hall in the palace.

There were foods from all over the kingdom (and other kingdoms), entertainers, gifts, speeches, drinks, music, and anything else Maka or his mother had asked for. But Soul did not pay attention to any of it. Instead, all he could focus on was Maka’s hand in his and his desperate attempts to keep arousal from being noticeable. He only let go of her hand three times.

The first, to let her stand and give a speech to thank everyone who had attended. The second, to stand and give his own speech (on how honoured he was to be a part of the royal family, and how much he was looking forward to working with Maka to keep their realm peaceful and prosperous), and the third was when Maka stood to greet an old friend from another kingdom who had been unable to watch that actual ceremony.

The Lady Tsubaki had been apologetic but extremely happy for Maka, and though the Lady’s guard, a loud man with bright blue hair, had been a little obnoxious, Maka was obviously happy, and thus so was Soul.

When Maka sat back down Soul held her hand once again, squeezing every now and then as though to check that she was actually real.

The banquet went on for many hours until the sun was starting to reach the horizon and torches were being lit to keep the celebrations going. By this time, Soul had drunk quite a lot to try and keep his throat from going dry and felt rather off balance. Maka’s cheeks were flushed with drink too, though she had not drunk as much as he had.

He repeatedly contemplated leaning over and just kissing her again, but each time he resolved himself to at least trying it, he would chicken out under the gaze of the court. However, he did keep catching Maka’s eyes as they glanced at each other, her eyes hooded and dark each time, making his blood burn.

Finally, _finally_ , it was time for them to leave for their honeymoon retreat.

Soul and Maka both rose from their seats, with Soul squeezing her hand for support as his world view wobbled a little (a lot). They were led off to an awaiting carriage, with their luggage already secured on top and with various guards lined up around it.

Maka was helped into the carriage first, and the Soul clambered in, with the guests cheering behind them. Soul shuffled his way to the other side of the carriage, away from the crowd, while Maka stuck her head out the window to wave and smile serenely.

Then they were off.

The place chosen for their honeymoon was one of the more modest royal retreats, set next to a large lake in front, with a large garden that backed onto a sprawling forest in a valley north of the palace city. It had been built by Maka’s great-grandmother, originally to house one of her many, _many_ children, but in the next generation it became a retreat, only used for holidays.

As they left the palace grounds, there was even more cheering, as a crowd had gathered outside the palace gates to send them off. Maka waved and smiled to them, and though Soul had had more than enough of crowds, he managed to draw some energy from deep down (and from the alcohol he had consumed) and made himself smile and wave too.

Once they left the city however, quiet descended, with only the sound of horses and the carriage to interrupt it, which he could deal with. Soul sank back into the carriage cushions and sighed.

“Glad it’s over?” Maka teased from opposite him.

He cracked a grin and chuffed. “Maybe a little. Maybe a lot.”

She giggled, and the look she gave him—one of affection and desire—inspired him to move from his side of the carriage to hers, so that he could sit next to her. She grinned and took his hand, weaving her fingers between his.

“It was a nice day though, wasn’t it?” she murmured, looking up at him from under her lashes.

He hummed and breathed, “Yeah, it was.”

She sighed and, after chewing on her bottom lip for a moment, she lay her head on his shoulder. Adoration bloomed deep in his heart and he lay his head on top of hers. He took a deep breath, and smelled whatever it was they had put in her hair—something flowery and sweet.

He wanted to say something, but was not sure what to say. The drink still in his body took that feeling and ran with it, inspiring him to blurt, “You looked so beautiful today.”

She turned her head so her eyes could meet his, and a smirk pulled at her lips. “Oh?”

He nodded and hummed again. “Like, the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

She laughed and lifted her head long enough to kiss his cheek, dangerously close to the corner of his mouth. “Thank you, Soul. You looked very beautiful today, too.”

His heart thumped hard in his chest and the area she had kissed was very, _very_ warm. “Not as beautiful as you,” he said, though his attention was entirely focused on her lips, the desire, the _need_ to feel them against his again almost overwhelming.

Without much thought, he lifted his free hand to touch her cheek, stroking the smooth skin again with his thumb, intrigued by how it hued under his touch.

She turned her head again and lifted it off his shoulder. For a moment he was worried he had done something wrong and began to pull away, but her hand captured his and kept it pressed to her cheek.

His heart stuttered and he could hardly breathe when she leaned in and kissed him, lips soft and warm, but demanding, leading him, surprisingly, in a heady dance he could barely keep up with.

She let go of his hand so she could grab his shoulders and pull him closer, and he used his now free hand to cup her other cheek as she turned her head to press her lips harder against his.

He shivered delightfully as her tongue peeked out of her mouth to briefly brush against his lips before retreating. He leaned into her and sighed, hoping she would understand his silent plea to _do that again, please_.

Her tongue felt so hot when it traced his lips, pushing slightly at the seam, then retreating again before doing it again, repeating the cycle, until on the third time he parted his lips for her.

Her tongue against his was strange, but also _nice_. It filled him with heat, and the burning desire to hold her closer. Her breath was sweet in his mouth, and her hands were now tangled in his hair.

After debating with himself for a few moments, he let go of one of her cheeks and wrapped his arm around her waist, trying to pull her towards him. Their knees knocked together though, and they broke apart with small, quiet laughter, still wrapped up in each-other’s arms.

Maka bit her lip, and glanced at the carriage windows, through which they could just about make out the horses the guards with them were riding. She looked back at him, then at the carriage floor, before finally seeming to come to a decision. She shifted around a bit and hiked up the skirts of her dress to his alarm, before draping one leg over his lap and shifting closer, so she was half straddling him.

His arm tightened around her waist and she grinned at him before sealing her lips back over his.

Her body was so warm against his side, burning him through his clothes. He had wanted her closer, and now she was, but now he wanted her _even closer_ , he wanted more skin on skin contact, he wanted to feel her heart beat against his chest, to trail his fingers all over her.

She seemed to share the sentiment, as one hand left his hair to run over his chest and, shoulder, neck, and jaw. Their kisses were becoming sloppy and desperate, and objectively he might have called all the saliva going everywhere gross but in that moment he did not really care.

Maka was pressed against him and returning every affection he gave her, and it was almost everything he wanted. In a moment of bravery, he left her cheek and put his hand where he was sure her thigh was, buried under her bunched skirts, and squeezed. She breathed heavily into and against his mouth and pulled away slightly.

“Soul,” she murmured, lips brushing his as she spoke.

He swallowed. “Maka?”

She traced the contours of his face lightly with the tips of her fingers.  “I _really_ want to keep doing what we’re doing,” she said, and he almost laughed with giddiness. However, he heard the ‘but’ coming, so forced it down. “But we still have quite some time to travel. And there are people all around us.”

He nodded slightly. “And we’re in a carriage.”

She hummed. “We should…wait, for a little while. Just until we get there.”

He nodded again, and forced down a sigh. “Yeah.”

She sighed and pressed her forehead against his, closing her eyes. He pulled his hand from her thigh and wrapped the arm around her waist, so he was almost embracing her. He closed his eyes too, to join her in the moment of quiet togetherness.

Though he still burned for her, the fire in his blood was slowly cooling, and he felt content to just sit in her arms. He wanted her to take the lead, did not want to rush her or make her uncomfortable. So he sat with her like that for the rest of the journey, kissing her occasionally, but only when she initiated it.

He could wait.

* * *

Though Soul could not see it through the dark, the retreat was large and finely finished. Inside there were candles lit everywhere, with the servants that came with the grand house lined up in the foyer.

At the door, a butler met them and led them up the large flight of stairs. They followed him down a corridor to a decorated door, which had two plainer doors spaced a little away on either side.

They were split apart to go through the plainer doors. Inside his room, Soul found just a pair of smooth silky trousers, a recliner, a wash basin, and two manservants to help him change clothes. There was a door to the left, which he figured would lead to the room the ornate doors had led to, which would be the master bedroom.

After being stripped of his wedding clothes, he slipped into the silken pants and shooed the servants away so he could gather his courage alone.

Through that door would be Maka. Through that door would be his wedding night and the start of the rest of his life with her.

His stomach flipped nervously and he felt his palms get damp with sweat. He thought of the carriage ride and what kissing her had felt like. She said she had wanted to continue. She _wanted_ this.

And he wanted it too.

With one last dry swallow he opened the door and strode into a large, grandly furnished master bedroom.

Which was empty.

Where was Maka?

He thought she must still be changing, so perched himself on the edge of the bed and waited for her. As he did, he looked around the room.

There was a large fireplace, and in front of it was a settee. He rose from the bed and sat there instead, enjoying the warmth of the fire in the now chilly evening. He almost wanted to go out and ask for some more clothes, but decided against it. It was just going to be taken off again.

But time started to tick by, and he began to be worried.

Was undressing really taking so long? Or was she just not coming? Fear gripped his heart as he thought that maybe she had changed her mind, or come to her senses. Had she just been playing along earlier, giving him what she thought he wanted? Did she not want him, and was only trying to placate him?

His thoughts swirled round and round in his head, so loud and overwhelming that he almost missed the other door clicking open. He whipped his head round to see and out from the doorway stepped Maka, in a white silk dress, that had straps over her shoulders and went down to the floor.

“Hi,” she said shyly and tucked some of her loose golden hair behind her ear. “Sorry, the dress very complicated. It took me hours to get into it this morning.”

He swallowed and shook his head. “Don’t worry about it,” he said. “I understand.”

She smiled affectionately and held out a hand for him. He rose from the settee and took it, and let her pull him towards her. He could feel warmth in his chest from her side of the bond, and felt himself smile.

Just to be safe however, he said, “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”

She giggled and put a hand on his shoulder as she leaned up to kiss his chastely. “I know,” she breathed. Then she pulled back and watched him. “We don’t have to do anything _you_ don’t want to do either.”

Carried by the burning that had spread from her to him, he blurted, “I want _you_.” Then he flushed bright red.

She laughed and leaned up to kiss him again. “I want you, too,” she whispered against his mouth.

He responded to her kisses gently, even as tension started to coil in his gut. He would take her pace, and do whatever she said. She had him body and soul, he was hers completely to do with as she wished.

Their kisses started to build like they had in the carriage, until Maka was grabbing at his hair and he had his arms wrapped tightly around her waist. After one long, wet, deep kiss, they broke apart breathing heavily. They stared at each other for a long moment, before Maka started grinning, and peppering kisses all over his face.

He smiled himself as her lips brushed every inch of his face, but his heart started thumping loudly in his chest as her lips moved from his face to his jaw and neck. Her hands left his hair and began to massage his shoulders.

She kissed his Adam’s apple and he gulped, heart stuttering. The light brush of her lips on his skin sent shivers down his spine, making him tingle from head to toe. He gripped her hips and sighed as her hands travelled down his chest. He felt himself grow stiff and hard between his legs as her fingers trailed over his nipples.

The silken pants did nothing to hide it, and he flushed bright red. Maka could surely see, could surely _feel_ his arousal as she was pressed so close to him. But she said nothing as she continued to press chaste kisses to his collarbones.

She pulled away and trailed her hands back up his torso, using her right hand to trace the mark over his chest. She glanced up at him and, maintaining eye contact with him, slowly leaned over and kissed the mark.

He was _burningburningburning_ for her, but he did nothing, only watched as she kissed all over the mark, and the top of the scar that stretched across his chest from a riding accident a few years back.

His toes curled into the floor and he felt his stomach muscles clench as her tongue began to trace his mark while she still held eye contact.

She pulled her tongue away from his skin but did not move. “Do you want to touch me?” she asked softly, tone hopeful, but all he could think of was the sensation of her breath against his damp skin. Damp from her tongue!

He managed to gather his wits enough to ask, “Do _you_ want me to touch you?”

She finally broke their eye contact, looking down at his chest shyly for a moment as she bit her lip. Then after a moment of thought she met his eyes again fearlessly and said firmly, “Yes.”

He tried to hide how eager he was, but probably failed as he ran his hands up and down her sides languidly. She squirmed in his grip and, in a move that showed him how truly impatient she was, she grabbed one of his hands and pressed it to her breast.

She sighed shakily as her hand over his made him squeeze her. “Like that,” she whispered.

He bit his lip, and reached for her behind, grabbing it and pulling her towards him. She squeaked, which almost made him freak out and apologise, but then she started giggling before pulling him down for another kiss.

As he started massaging her flesh, he felt himself throb when she responded with little gasps and sighs. Her kisses were becoming desperate, sloppy and uncoordinated, though it was not like he was complaining. He loved the feeling of her hands in his hair guiding him, of her body underneath his hands, and of her wriggling against his front.

Particularly the wriggling. It created friction against his arousal, but also _not enough friction_. The silken fabric of their clothes was too smooth and the sweet torture was driving him insane!

Maka pulled away panting suddenly, and before he could ask what was wrong (and if _he_ had done something wrong), she asked, “Shall we go to bed?”

His stomach flipped over and he found himself nodding even as his insides felt like they were knotting themselves up in nervousness and excitement.

She scurried out of his arms and around onto the bed, with him following, only to stop short after clambering onto the large bed and ask, “How do you want to be?”

He made a little strangled sound in the back of his throat. “Uhhh, how do _you_ want to be?”

She whined a little, and then flushed brightly. “You’ve been doing what I said all night. You’re allowed to have a say, too, you know!”

He snorted and felt himself blush like her. “Yeah, well, I just want you to be comfortable. I don’t want to force you into doing anything you don’t want to do.”

“And I don’t want to force you into doing anything _you_ don’t want to do,” she said with a small smile.

He huffed and grinned. “Maka, I am perfectly happy to do _whatever_ you want to do.”

She looked down at her hand clutching at the bedsheets shyly, then looked up at him through her eyelashes. “Alright. If you’re sure, I don’t want to boss you around either.”

He leaned closer to her and pecked her pink cheek. “Completely sure.”

She laughed and pressed her lips to his quickly before leaning back. “OK,” she said. “Lie on your back?”

The shuffling of fabric sounded so loud in the quiet as he moved so he was lying in the centre of the bed looking up at her. He felt his eyes bug out of his head as she hiked her dress up around her hips and straddled him. She smiled shyly at him as she settled on top of him, and he was overwhelmed by how _warm_ she felt on top of him.

She pressed her hands against his chest as he put his hands on her waist, rubbing circles into her sides. Maka bit her lip, stayed still for a long moment, and then moved her hips slowly against his.

There was suddenly _pressure_ and _heat_ and _friction_ against him, and it made him throw his head back, a low noise tumbling out of his throat.

“ _Maka_ ,” he gasped.

“Good?” she said eagerly.

He hummed and nodded quickly. “For you too?”

“Yeah,” she breathed.

She continued to move, _grind_ against him, and it felt amazing. But then she moved his hand—both of them this time actually—to her breasts and encouraged him to grope her.

Warmth was pooling deep down in his belly, coiling tighter as he felt her nipples harden under hands, creating points sticking out of her dress.

Maka let out a sudden huff of annoyance though and stopped, and he almost whined in protest, but he was quickly shut up by her pulling the dress up over her head and throwing it off the side of the bed.

He was going to die, his skin felt overheated and tingly, like it was going to set itself on fire.

She was completely naked under her dress, there was nothing at all to shield her body from his gaze. He drank her in as she flushed a little, pink travelling down from her cheeks to her chest, drawing his eyes down with it.

Her chest heaved as she watched him watch her. His gaze roamed down her body completely to the small bush of dark blonde hairs in between her legs. That was where he was meant to go, at least according to everything he had been told in the lead up to his wedding.

Ox had (mortifyingly) told him the basics of what was supposed to happen. Wes had (even more disgustingly) told him what it was supposed to feel like. Harvar had merely laughed at his discomfort. True, it had horrified him at first, but now looking at Maka, at how beautiful she was, with this new need and want growing in his heart, he was far more open to the idea of sex.

At least with her. He was pretty certain he would never feel this way about anyone other than Maka for the rest of his days.

Fingers interrupted his view, but only to reach down and tug at the hem of his pants.

“Can these come off?” Maka asked softly.

He nodded mutely and helped lift his hips off the bed so she could shuffle his pants down, after untying the string that kept them fixed in place. Soon his pants were dropped off the side of the bed to join her dress, and they were both left nude.

What Soul had not really expected was the _wetness_ that come from having his stuff up against Maka’s. He knew that meant she was aroused—which was good, great!—but he had not anticipated there being so much of it, spread across her nether region and her thighs, and now spread to his.

She grinned down at him and resumed her grinding. And then his mind completely blanked as sparks flew down his back from how really _fucking_ good that felt.

He grasped at her hips and helped her move, becoming entranced in the way her body undulated as she rolled her hips against his. Her breasts, small as they were, jostled very noticeably with her movements and he was struck with the desire to kiss them.

For once, he went with that desire, leaning on an elbow so he could curl in towards her and pepper kisses all over her chest. Maka’s fingers tangled in his hair and she gasped, then made a low noise in the back of her throat, speeding up her movements.

He wrapped an arm around her waist to support him instead of his elbow, and used his free hand to grope the breast he was not kissing. Then he made a discovery.

Kissing her nipple made her shudder, licking it made her curl in over him, and scraping it gently with his teeth made her cry out his name. And so he set out to gently nip at all the skin he could get to, kissing away any marks he may have left in the process.

She hummed and sighed as he moved from her chest to her neck, worrying the skin of her throat a little. Her movements drew out little noises from him every now and then, and the whole things just felt really great.

Maka pulled him away from her neck using his hair and smashed her mouth into his, a little painfully, but all was forgiven when she licked her way inside to his tongue.

They kept this up for a while, clutching at each other, kissing and grinding, until finally Maka stopped them to breathe out,

“Let’s do it.”

He almost asked her what she meant, but caught on before he could embarrass himself with such a question.

“Yes. Let’s,” he replied and she kissed him again for a long moment before wriggling off of him.

She lay down next to him and started tugging on his arm to lean over her, so he could nestle himself between her legs. She pulled his head down for a kiss and wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him closer to her body. He sighed at the wonderful heat and slickness, and was content to just continue to grind, but she wriggled impatiently.

“Soul, please!” she gasped as he bucked against her, moaning low into her neck.

“Do-do you want me to do anything for you? Be-before, I, y’know…” he asked awkwardly, pressing wet kisses to the side of her face and neck.

She took a shaky breath and tugged on his hair gently to get him to look her in the eye. “No, I’ll be OK. Thank you for offering, though. Can we just… do it?”

He bit the inside of his cheek, and tried to search their bond for any sort of doubt. When he did not find any, he asked aloud just to be sure.

She huffed and smiled a little crooked grin. “If I wasn’t sure, I wouldn’t have asked. _Yes_. Please, can we be one?”

Though he could not quite make sense of it, he could not refuse the adoring look in her eyes. No one had ever looked at him like that.

He pressed his forehead to hers and took a deep breath through his nose. “Alright. Let’s be one.” He was proud of his voice for only wavering a little bit.

He reached down to take himself in hand to help guide himself inside her, but after several long moments of _trying_ , he looked at her pleadingly.

“Help?” he said in a pathetic little whimper.

She giggled and turned her head enough to kiss his cheek, before reaching down to wrap her hand around his and guide him the right direction. It took two more tries, but they finally found the right place.

As soon as he started to enter her, she sucked in a deep breath through gritted teeth and he froze.

“Am I hurting you?” he asked frantically.

She shook her head. “No, it just feels strange. Just go slow, I’m fine. I’ll tell you if it hurts.”

He started chewing on the inside of his cheek again as he sunk into her, trying to focus on the small pain his teeth caused rather than the blinding heat and friction from her body taking his in. He felt his arms and legs shake as they held him up, moving at a torturously slow speed.

Maka breathed hard by his ear, but she did not tell him to stop. He hoped it felt as good for her as it did for him, because it felt _amazing_.

Finally, _finally_ , he was fully sheathed inside her, and they both let out tense breaths.

“Maka,” he gasped against her cheek. “You-you feel so…so…”

She sighed and her breath hitched as he twitched slightly inside her. “Yeah,” she breathed. “You too— _ah_. You can move, please!”

He clenched handfuls of the bed sheets in a hold that would have hurt if he had been grabbing Maka, and budged his hips a little, thrusting shallowly.

She gasped and hummed and wrapped her arms tight around his shoulders. “A-a little more, like that.”

He thrust a little deeper and groaned into her neck, hissing her name as he tried to see past the blurring stars behind his eyelids.

Her nails dug into his back, and he thrust a little harder, making her moan quietly.

He swore under his breath and stammered, “I-I’m not going to—Maka you feel so _good_ , I—”

She hummed and pressed sloppy kisses against his cheekbone. “It’s OK,” she whispered breathlessly, keening between each thrust. “This is amazing, _thank you so much_ —”

He did not hear the rest of what she said, as the feeling of her around him pushed the coil that had been tightening in his lower abdomen since she had first pulled his hand to her breast wound so tightly it almost hurt, before snapping and shooting white hot pleasure all through his body. Colours and stars danced in his vision as he choked out her name, jerking against her as unravelled.

She sighed and stroked his hair as he slowly came back to himself, sprawled on top of her.

He pulled himself out and slumped over to the side, even as she whined for him to stay, and wrapped an arm around her waist to pull her towards him.

“Sorry,” he murmured into her hairline. “That wasn’t very… good.” Understatement of the century. “You’re supposed to have something like that, too.”

She giggled and pressed a kiss to his neck. “An orgasm?” He made a sound like a squeak, but she thankfully either did not hear it or just ignored it. “It’s OK. We have a whole month to practice.”

This time when he squeaked, she laughed, rubbing his back.

When he no longer felt like his face was going to catch on fire, he mumbled, “Still feel bad, though.”

Maka hummed against his chest, this time sounding like a noise of interest. “Well, we could always…”

When she did not continue he pulled away slightly to look at her flushed face. “What?”

She bit her lip and looked up at him with hooded eyes. Without saying a word, she took one of his hands and led it down her torso to the space between her legs. Her skin was slick, and as she used his fingers to part her lower lips, he was reintroduced to the warmth there.

She pushed his fingers against a little nub just above the source of her arousal, and gasped sharply when she made him rub it. She pressed her open mouth to his collarbone and panted as she moved fingers around the nub in circles.

“Good?” he breathed.

She hummed and nodded, fidgeting a little. “ _Yes_.”

Watching her get worked up by his doing was starting to make the burning arousal return. She was so beautiful, he could hardly stand it.

Her mouth hung open as she panted, the speed of her breaths increasing as her face scrunched up. Her voice started to catch in her breaths, high pitched and wordless.

He started rubbing harder and faster of his own volition, and her hand left his to clutch his shoulders as she mashed her face against him, wriggling her hips against his hand.

“Soul,” she gasped. “Ye- _yes_ , _Soul!_ ”

He hoped she was drawing closer to that pleasure, because she was driving him mad by watching her.

She gasped his name over and over until finally she went silent, mouth open as she shuddered and shook, hips spasming against his hand. He did his best to keep up, but as her movements starts to slow, she grabbed his hand against to stop him.

“’s a little sensitive,” she said softly as she panted.

He murmured a quick apology into her hair and she laughed breathlessly before kissing him soundly.

“Thank you,” she whispered against his lips, eyes closed.

He chuffed and wrapped her up in his arms, renewed arousal now beginning to fade away as sleepiness began to overtake him. “You don’t have to thank me. I should be thanking _you_.”

She snorted and nuzzled his throat.

As they started to cool down, they shuffled underneath the blankets, still wrapped up in each other’s arms.

They kissed a little more, slowly but passionately, before the exhaustion of a truly hectic day overwhelmed them.

Just as Soul was about to drift off to sleep, Maka tucked neatly under his chin, he heard her murmur, “I love you.”

Warmth surged in his heart, and he thought he had never been so happy. He kissed the top of her head, and whispered, “I love you too.”

She sighed contentedly and soon they were both asleep.


	3. Epilogue

Maka tugged on his hair, _hard_ , and he attached his mouth to her neck, nosing the neckline of her dress out of the way so he could get at skin that could be easily hidden. Her legs were wrapped around his waist as he ground against her, and she let out a huff each time he rocked his hips against hers. His arms were braced against the desk she was sitting on.

“Soul,” she whispered against his ear. “Soul, _please_.”

He grinned and murmured, “What do you want me to do?”

She whined quietly and nipped at his ear, making him shudder a little before snickering.

“Use your words, Maka,” he said teasingly.

She tugged on his hair to pull him away from her neck so she could pout at him, to which he only grinned and pecked her lips a few times. It only took a few more rocks of his hips for her to finally cave.

“I want you inside me,” she finally huffed, pink despite the fact that she had happily ordered him around before.

He smiled and press his lips to hers briefly, before reaching down to the lace of his pants so he could shuck them down enough to free his arousal. He pressed himself against her for a moment and they both sighed at the heat they shared, before Maka wrapped a hand around his hardness and guided him into her.

They panted, open mouthed against each-other’s lips as he slid into her, but at his first thrust, he had to clamp down on his lip to contain his noises. Maka cupped his cheeks and pressed her forehead to his, face expressive though she was silent in her pleasure.

This silence was good however, since they were currently in Maka’s office, sneaking in a moment of intimacy between Maka’s meetings with various groups of advisers. Discretion was key, and, in all honesty, made it more exciting, no matter how hard he personally found it.

In the month they had spent in the royal retreat for their honeymoon, they had quickly discovered that in the bedroom, they were the reverse of their normal selves. In the midst of pleasure, Soul was incredibly loud and expressive, while Maka was reserved and quiet enough to border on silent.

They had also discovered how to best work their bodies, and had built up quite a bit of confidence around each other.

So, while their current position was nice, Soul wanted to wrap himself around his wife. With this in mind, he began to lean over so Maka was forced to lie on her back on the desk, arms and legs wrapped around him while he buried his face in her neck and clutched at her thigh and waist.

Her panting in his ear drove him insane, as did the feeling of her body around his hardness. The danger of being caught made his blood burn hotter too, and he found himself in danger of losing himself too soon, like he had at the beginning of their honeymoon.

He shifted a little and managed to fit a hand between their bodies so he could rub at the little nub above her entrance and bring her as much pleasure as possible. Her hands found their way under the neckline of his shirt and her nails dug into his skin as she threw her head back and quaked, pleasure overcoming her.

Her body spasmed around him and it was this that drove over the edge to that wonderful pleasure he found with her, biting his lip so hard he bled in order to remain quiet.

He slumped over her as they recovered, breathing slowly returning to normal. She pushed her fingers through his now tussled hair and laughed quietly against his hairline.

“Thank you, dear husband,” she whispered and he flushed a little. She laughed a little more and he chuffed, trying to play off his embarrassment.

It still felt weird to be called _husband_ , even two months into their marriage.

He slowly pushed himself off of her and slumped down in her chair, hitching his pants back up and tying them though his legs felt limp and useless. Maka sat up and pushed her skirts back down, though they were rather horribly wrinkled.

She grinned and moved from the desk to his lap gently, and then set about trying to fix his sex-mussed hair.

He let her do it and wrapped his arms around her waist. “Your hair is just as bad,” he teased quietly.

She stuck her tongue out at him and ignored his comment. But once she deemed his hair was appropriate for polite company again, she shifted so her back was to him so he could let all her hair down and arrange it again neatly, a trick she had taught him when they set up their little challenge of being intimate in as many places as possible without being caught.

Once her hair was fixed, he pulled it to the side so he could he kiss her neck. “You look beautiful today, by the way,” he said, and kissed her pulse point.

She giggled. “You shameless flatterer.”

He smirked into her hair. “What’s your next meeting about?”

She sighed. “Some magically enhanced snakes have been giving the northern border trouble. Mort thinks it might be the last vestiges of Witch Medusa, but my advisers want to send some people to investigate for sure.”

He nodded and hummed.

Then she turned on his lap to look at him. “Actually, there’s something I want to talk to you about. One of my advisers brought something up this morning.” She wrung her hands a little. “About…heirs.”

“Oh.”

“Yes, well, they think that with… _things_ starting to brew up concerned with Medusa, despite the fact that she’s been dead for many years, it would be best for there to be at least one heir to the throne should anything boil over into conflict.” She spoke it a rush and then looked at him shyly. “What do you think?”

He pursed his lips. He did not like the idea that Maka could die anytime soon (or ever to be honest, but death was unfortunately a part of life that he had to accept). “Well,” he said. “It’s not really my choice, is it? You’re the one taking the potion, and you’d be the one to carry a child. It’s up to you.”

She scowled at him then, but the scowl quickly morphed into a pout. “That’s not really an answer.”

He smiled a little. “I’m not adverse to children,” he said quietly. “If you want one, or several, I’ll be happy, and I’ll be with you during every step. But it is _your_ decision.”

Her smile was affectionate, and slightly watery with what he hoped were happy tears. She pushed her face into his neck and mumbled, “I love you.”

He squeezed his arms around her and kissed her temple. “I love you, too.” Then against her hair, he grumbled, “But your father would kill me if he finds out you’re pregnant.”

She snorted and he pouted. “He doesn’t hate you as much as he did before, don’t be so dramatic.”

“You don’t see the way he glares at me when you’re not there!”

She pulled back and gave him a look.

He pouted some more until she took pity of him and pecked him on the nose. “Don’t worry, I’ll protect you from him. You know he wouldn’t dare upset his darling, dearest daughter.”

He huffed and tried to tuck his head into her neck, but was stopped by a knock at the door. Maka jumped off his lap and brushed down her skirts, giving him another look when he did not rise from the chair. He grinned cheekily and stood, smoothing down his own clothes.

“I’ll see you at dinner,” he murmured, before pressing a small kiss to her cheek. “Love you.”

She smiled and squeezed his hand. “Love you too.”

He left the room with a bounce in his step and smile on his face, and thanked all the gods above for the life he had been given.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys enjoyed! Again, thanks to everyone who has cheered me on and supported me in this, and thanks to the resbang mods for sorting the whole event out!  
> Enjoy the rest of resbang!


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